Sunday, March 08, 2025
Yesterday, the morning behaved itself. The sun arrived on clock-cue, light crept over the junipers, and the birds carried on as usual. My routine was a simple, four-part harmony: coffee, listening, looking, and assessing the weather.
But today, the “human committee” has intervened. It’s Daylight Saving Time again.
My clocks—the ones I forgot to change—insist nothing has happened. But it’s still dark, and I know better. I suspect the horses do, too. Creatures of the natural world are famously unimpressed by national policy.
When I step outside at the hour my watch will be claiming this day begins, the sky will argue. This country air will whisper, “You’re too early.”
The result? My house is divided.
The Clocks: Claim I’m on time.
The Dogs: Complain that their breakfast is an hour “late.”
Max the Cat: Ignores this adjustment entirely, views the whole thing as unnecessary human drama.
The Birds: Are still hit-snoozing in the trees.
We play this peculiar ritual twice a year, pretending politely that time itself has shifted. But out in the country here, the real clock is the faint glow behind the Cascades. And it’s the stirrings of animals without alarms. Because the rhythm of the land is stubborn—and frankly, far more sensible than attempts to “move the sun.”
I’m forced to compromise. I’ll pretend as much as possible to follow the government’s clock. But I’ll keep my internal gears set to the horizon, embracing these truths: coffee first, listening second, looking third.
I’ll let the bureaucrats move the numbers. And meanwhile, I’ll keep listening for the wild birds to reveal the true beginnings of our days.
— Diana
Diana's Morning Blog 